Thousand Islands Yacht Club

Iroquois Ontario

AS IT WAS IN THE BEGINNING...At its concept, no one could take it seriously, nor did any of its founders think it would really happen.

The Thousand Islands Yacht Club came about as the result of a conversation in which one of a small group of acquaintances at a 1,000 Islands dock said he wished there was a way to get accommodation at various yacht clubs around Lake Ontario.

He'd been turned away from one because he had no yacht club affiliation, or had to pay at others for a one-night stay.Somebody mentioned the obvious: Why not form a yacht club ?We will draw a curtain on the jocularity and derision that followed the statement. This group, it will be recognized, included no financiers or captains of industry. Among the lot, meeting the annual gas and booze bills and summer dockage was regarded as a feat of financial legerdemain.

The vision of a "yacht club" as exemplified by the RCYC, for instance, was so far from the realm of possibility among these short arms and deep pockets, it was beyond imagination...but not beyond the kind of ridicule stimulated by an early cocktail hour, boozy barbecue, after-dinner drinks and a full moon shining on Mermaid Island.

"We could just call ourselves a yacht club," one dogged dreamer persisted."That's no good," was the retort. "You've gotta be RECOGNIZED.""How do you get recognized ?"

....And so, on it went as the moon waned, and answers became as intangible as a Scotch mist. It was, however, decided to ask the Canadian Yachting Association on Monday, and somebody actually remembered. Geoff Wheatley, then CYA's executive director, and a client of one of the founders, provided a quick answer: "Show me 10 members, pay me 10 bucks for each, and I'll register you as a yacht club....but there's one condition.", "What's that ?", "I want to be a member too."So it was, in the year of 1981, the Thousand Islands Yacht Club was gathered into in the bosom of the CYA, and stamped with legitimacy. The late-night carousers who became its first members were John and Donna Roberts, Harold and Vivienne Hopkins, Mike Houghton and Bev Blakey, Bob and Lynn Mellor, and Mike Bresnahan, along with Geoff and Dana Wheatley. Mike Houghton was elected its first commodore.IN THE BEGINNING... AN ODD MIX OF BOATS AND PEOPLEIt was an odd mix of boats and people from which the TIYC was formed. John Roberts, a dentist in Ottawa, then owned Vagabond IV, a C&C 30. Mike Houghton, then skipper of Velvet Hammer II, a CS 27, was a partner in an Ottawa insurance firm. These were the only two sailors. Mike Bresnahan, who ran a beautifully-preserved antique 30-foot wooden Chris Craft, also ran a neighborhood bar in Alexandria Bay. Harold Hopkins had a 26-foot wooden Chris aptly named Captain Crunch after its propensity for knocking down boathouses. (It was replaced by a 28-foot fibreglass Chris named Summer Wine.) At the time, Harold was administrator of a psychiatric facility in Watertown, NY. Bob Mellor, running a 21-foot cuddy-cabin Wellcraft called B-Cuz, had a public relations business in Ottawa.Geoff Wheatley, a British expatriate, then executive director of the Canadian Yachting Association in Ottawa, didn't have a boat on the St. Lawrence at the time. His was a wooden classic Richardson of '50s vintage called Keeta, on the Ottawa River. Everybody concerned thought it all a great lark. No clubhouse, no club quarters -- but we did indeed have a recognized club, tiny as it was. To give it visibility, Mike Houghton designed the burgee which the club flies today. The red, white and blue colors, the maple leaf and the white stars on blue background are symbolic of the club's international aspect. The six stars represent the six founding members.FROM INVISIBLE TO 'ROYAL' IN TWO YEARSIn further search of recognition and visibility -- and perhaps to see how far we could get with this lark --Geoff Wheatley took some action that saw the club go from invisibility to royalty in its first two seasons. Wheatley was instrumental in bringing the TIYC into the US Yacht Racing Union, now known as Sailing US, and then, amazingly, also into the Royal Yachting Association of Great Britain within the first two years of its existence. An annual meeting later voted to drop the RYA association because of cost, since it was far more important to belong to the US body. In spite of these appearances the club made a valiant attempt to keep things from getting serious. The key rules were "no rules".IT COULD ASSEMBLE ON ONE DOCKConceived through a Scotch mist on a dock, brought about as a lark, it was inevitable that in the early years, the tiny TIYC would remain for some time a tight little group. For one thing, the size of the club meant that it could assemble on one dock -- and usually did. (It still tries to, occasionally, with some interesting rafting and anchoring situations.) Meetings to deal with business -- or elect a new commodore -- could be held at any time, including New Year's Eve, which was the case for several years.

FOR SOME TIME IT WOULD REMAIN A TIGHT GROUPThe first new members to be added, in 1983, were Gerry and Joan Penney (Pennacle) and Paul and Carol Anne Lawrence (then Foxy Lady). Inducted to the club on New Year's Eve of 1984 were Ken and Judy Truesdell and Gary and Angie McLaughlin. At the time both couples were sailing Catalina 30's, named Skal and Prime Time. Up to that point in time, little effort had been made to keep records, beyond what was necessary to pay CYA, USYRU and RYA dues. Almost nothing exists on paper; only some photographs and memories.

AS THE CLUB HAS GROWN, SO HAS ITS OUTLOOKThe club sponsors no racing activity; it is essentially a club of cruising power and sailboats. However, on an individual basis, TIYC boats take part in a Gentleman's Cruise sailed out of Clayton NY, early in June. It is not unusual for many powerboat skippers to join in as crew for their sailing colleagues. While the club's inception was owed to a desire to achieve transient docking privileges at yacht clubs around the lake, accepting such privileges had always been a bit of an embarrassment.The TIYC was hardly in a position to respond in kind. This problem, however was solved in 1990 through the generosity of the proprietors of Iroquois Marina, Paul Webb and Leroy Hamilton. TIYC offers a free night's docking at that marina in exchange for privileges at other yacht clubs. A list of those clubs responding to the offer is published annually in the club bulletin. As the club has grown, so has its outlook. TIYC boats do go further afield, but generally cruise in the Thousand Islands.There has been a growing appreciation of the beauty of the islands and the need for their preservation for the generations to come. To pursue this, TIYC has established links with the administration of the park and the organization representing the cottage owners. This is the function of the liaison officer on the executive committee. TIYC played a part in 1991 in the successful effort to alter the "grey water" legislation that had been proposed by the Ontario government. Thus the club can, when it's necessary, be a representative voice for boaters who enjoy the islands -- but, that enjoyment and camaraderie remains as always, what the club is all about.LEGENDS, LORE AND LOLLAPALOOZASA Lexicon of TIYC ExpressionsVarious expressions have crept into the vocabulary of TIYC members which often puzzle newcomers. We will attempt to clear up some of the confusion. That doesn't mean you cannot be further confused by TIYC members. But it may help.Piggly-Wiggly -- This is any cheap wine bought in bulk. The expression comes from Don (Gina) Brantingham's habit of buying wine so cheap and so bad he has to deep-chill it before drinking. When he does so, he places it in the fridge in a container once used for Piggly-Wiggly Milk, a US chain.Toonies -- Martinis, actually. Coined by Paul Lawrence (Vagabond IV), when he said: "I think I've had tee many martoonis."Water of the River -- The concoction which all new members must drink upon initiation. It does not contain water.The Cold Dock -- the South dock on Endymion, so-called because it is partly exposed to prevailing wind.The Warm Dock -- the East dock on Endymion, protected from every direction but East, and an oven on hot days in the Summer.Michael's Folly -- The shoal guarding the South approach to Camelot Island. So-called because Michael Houghton (then Velvet Hammer II) pushed a tack just too far and grounded so hard, he cracked the hull.

The Legend of the Jealous MermaidMermaid Island, one of the jewels among the park islands, was highly-favored as a gathering spot by the TIYC in the early years. It is rare for club boats to visit it anymore. It hasn't lost any of its charm -- it's just that there is a suspicion among female crew of the TIYC that the mermaid it is named after may well be a jealous, vindictive wench. She does not like females traipsing about her island. Most people think this is unfounded -- but consider the following instances. In 1983, Janice Whitters, (then Isedso) recently recovered from an operation on her left foot, was celebrating a birthday. A number of club boats were on hand. Sometime after dark, Janice left the dock for a trip "up the hill". She was gone some time. One of the children found her, unable to walk, and sobbing. Assuming she had injured the recently-operated-on foot, members carried her back to the dock and plunged the foot into a bucket of ice water. It was 10 minutes before, between sobs, she could blurt out: "I've been trying to tell you -- it's the OTHER foot !" She had broken the right ankle. Again, on Mermaid, almost a year to the day later, celebrating her birthday, Bev Blakey (Velvet Hammer II) went to assist in tying up a boat just coming onto the dock. She stepped on a rotten plank, went through, and sprained an ankle. Out came the ice bucket again. If that weren't already enough to make females wary of being on Mermaid, the following year, Donna Roberts (Citadel) was a victim. This time, the spirit of misfortune chose to pin her leg between the dock and the boat. Visits to Mermaid since have often been scotched by objections from the crew. However, a TIYC group was again at Mermaid in 1992, stormbound in 40-knot winds. The first day passed without incident. On the evening of the second however, while attempting to climb aboard Chinook to silence a banging halyard, Janice Whitters, fully clothed, fell into the water. Considering what had gone before, she considered herself lucky. It may only be coincidence that no male has ever come to grief on Mermaid Island... but the women have certainly developed a suspicion about it. They are convinced the Mermaid doesn't like them.

Goodman's Raffles and three other boats North of Camelot Island.McLaughlin had a dog named Winston, a gallopping galoot renowned neither for his breeding nor superior intelligence. It was a lazy Sunday morning. Winston, being the only creature moving about on the raft, decided to go for a patrol. The Sunday morning silence was suddenly shattered by screams. Winston, in his zeal to leave no part of the raft unexplored, had plunged through the open front hatch of Raffles and descended in all his furry confusion upon the Goodmans in their V-berth. They had been...er...well, doing what young couples do on a lazy Sunday morning. A matter of weeks later, the Goodmans announced that they were expecting a blessed event. People have always wondered...Assuring Good Weather For A CruiseThe ancient mariners of the Aegean and Mediterranean believed there was only one way to assure good weather and fair winds on a voyage. And that, it was said, was to have a young maiden walk to the bow at the outset of the voyage, and bare her breasts to assuage the gods of wind and weather. This is what led to the carved figurehead of a bare-breasted maiden which adorned the bows of many of the ancient sailing vessels. A TRADITION HIGHLY-PROMOTED BY SKIPPERS - It has thus become a tradition highly-promoted by skippers in the TIYC that, when guests are aboard, a visiting female is invited to uphold the custom when leaving harbor in order that good weather may be assured for the cruise. Unfortunately, most would rather take their chances. In one such case in 1989, a visiting female aboard Chinook was informed of the tradition, but declined (somewhat disrespectfully) to uphold it. Within 20 minutes of leaving port, it began raining. The rain was to continue all day Saturday and into Sunday, when the hot mugginess of the weather nevertheless inspired a swim. Along with other members of the crew, the female guest dove into the clear, cool waters and surfaced -- but, to her horror, without the top of her bathing suit. At that moment, the sun broke out. This story could be regarded as apocryphal, but it can be substantiated by witnesses, including a female. Which all goes to prove that you can't mess around with ancient mariners.

How Six-Chicken Bay Got Its Name It's not marked on the charts that way, but that bay of Grindstone Island just opposite the South side of Endymion got named Six-Chicken Bay in 1992. The bay was the site of a send-off party for longtime club members Paul and Carol Anne Lawrence of Vagabond IV, and Gerry and Joan Penney of Companeros III. Because the crown corporation that employed them was moving to Regina, Saskatchewan, so were they -- boats and all. As the revelry of the noisy raft gave way to pangs of hunger, Paul set up his barbecue in the stern, with the propane tank resting on the gunwale, and turned his best chef's attention to six Cornish hens. They'd been brought aboard for the occasion by one of Paul's former co-workers (dubbed the Beauteous Brigitte by various lecherous skippers), and her husband, who were guests for the weekend. The six hens were also meant to provide dinner for the Penneys. Also aboard the Vagabond was Paul's dog Duke, a great galloping gallump of a retreiver -- the best stick chaser on the St. Lawrence, but somewhat short of a canine genius. Bored with the proceedings, or possibly made restless by the urgings of his bladder for a trip ashore, Duke decided to go for a gallump around the boat. Never one to let things stand in his way, Duke ignored the propane tank sitting on the gunwale and brushed it aside. It was a moment that to Paul Lawrence will forever be frozen in time.As he watched through a fog of 'toonies, the propane tank, the barbecue, and the six Cornish hens began a Titanical plunge into the bay. A curtain of mercy must be drawn here; we cannot dwell on what the mate had to say, or what altered opinions the Beauteous Brigitte may have had about Paul's dog or the dog's owner. Nor will we speculate on what supper was then to consist of. In the bright light of morning, an effort was made to drag for the tank, the barbecue, and possibly even the carcasses of the six Cornish hens, all to no avail. But since that time, that once-nameless indentation in Grindstone Island has borne the name of Six-Chicken Bay.

CASSIDY SHOAL: Big or Small, It Got Them All Of all the hundreds upon thousands of rocks and shoals that await the unwary boater in the Thousand Islands, none match the infamy, or have done as much damage as Cassidy Shoal. Since the late 1980's the shoal's depredations upon boating traffic have been minimized. A tall tower now unmistakably marks this hazard. But it wasn't always so, and many the sailor or powerboater (including several in the TIYC) has a repair bill among his memoirs to mark the time he hit Cassidy Shoal. One such is Geoff Wheatley, one of the TIYC's founding members. Wheatley's misadventure took place in 1982... but wait. It is first necessary to understand what made Cassidy Shoal the nemesis that it was. Heading East down the St. Lawrence from Kingston, one passes first Cedar, and then Milton Island, two of the St. Lawrence Parks islands. To go further East, a choice is offered; down the main channel of the river through the Forty Acres, or down the Bateau Channel, a fairly narrow, protected branch of the river running between the mainland and Howe Island. If the weather's rough, the Bateau is the way to go. The entrance of the Bateau appears wide -- about a half-mile. But that appearance is a lie. The only safe passage is within 150 feet of the North Shore. Cassidy Shoal, a mere foot or less below the surface, extends South from there almost all the way to Howe Island. In the years when Cassidy was every boater's nemesis, the beginning of the shoal was marked by a green spar -- 150 feet from the North Shore. This was obviously difficult to spot for a boat approaching from the West. And so, in their wisdom, the powers that be put another green spar smack-dab in the middle of the shoal. The result ? Hundreds of poor souls assumed they were in no trouble if they simply went to the North of the green spar they saw in the middle of the opening to the Bateau. There were marinas in Kingston that thrived on the carnage wrought by Cassidy. And no matter how much everybody on the river talked about it, the carnage went on. And so we come to Wheatley. Although one of the founding members of the club, he didn't have a boat on the St. Lawrence at the time. In the next year, he sold his l950's wooden Richardson on the Ottawa and purchased a fast 23-foot cuddy cruiser, delivered to Kingston. When he announced that, from Kingston, he would join up with the TIYC boats in the islands the following weekend, the first thing he was told about was Cassidy Shoal. It was described and documented with a sketch. Came the day. Past Cedar Island he flew, then Milton. And, approaching the dreaded Cassidy, he slowed down. Sizing things up cautiously, he spotted a tour boat, headed West, over by the North shore. And then to his right, a green spar. Confidently, he re-opened the throttle, felt the boat get up on plane, and..... It is perhaps more merciful to draw a curtain on what happened in the next few seconds, minutes, or hours. Much later, Wheatley was asked how, after all the briefing he'd had, he could STILL hit Cassidy Shoal. "How was I supposed to know," he asked, "that damned tour boat was already sitting on the shoal ? The proper green mark was BEHIND the tour boat." There was one thing you had to say about Cassidy. It didn't play favorites. Big and small, it got them all.

Gee Dad, I Had to Tell You That ?On an early-morning tour in his dinghy with daughter Catherine, Glenn Bloodworth (then Pequis) was fairly close to shore. He asked Catherine if she'd keep an eye out for rocks. Minutes later, a rending sound accompanied a rise in the dinghy's waterline as the bottom split from stem to gudgeon. Suddenly awash, El Capitan suggested mildly (ahem) to Catherine that she may have been somewhat derelict in her duty as lookout. "Well gee Dad," she protested, "I didn't think I had to tell you about the ones ABOVE water."

The Icebreakers & Annual Rush to Wet The BottomThe TIYC has always had a proliferation of "keeners" -- skippers who rush to get the boat into the water every Spring, and are among the last to come out in the Fall. The club record for the earliest launch belongs to Mad Gerry Penney, who, in 1990, launched the Pennacle on March 31. Iroquois Marina operator Leroy Hamilton, who literally had to break ice to get the Pennacle in, said it was the earliest he had ever launched a boat. The previous record, in 1988, was shared by Dick Bond and Bob Mellor, who launched on April 4. That year however, it was warm. This annual rush to the water prompted Wade and Ann Crites (Pupsea) to instigate the Ice-Breaker Award in 1992. (What else ? A silver ice bucket.) Wade had beaten the pack with an April 6 launch in 1991, and promptly engraved his own name on the trophy for that year. And although 1992 was a late launch for everyone, Wade recaptured his own trophy with an April 17 launch, just hours ahead of Jim Stone and Var Dromm.

Iroquois Ike: Harbinger of SpringIroquois Ike wasn't known to the TIYC before 1991, but aparently, he's been around for a long, long time. Iroquois Ike is one of the last surviving members of an antlered four-foot tall breed of rabbits known as the Great St. Lawrence Thumper. The ancient Indians in the Thousand Islands area knew the species as the Great Horny Hare. The species, which lives along the St. Lawrence front, was all but wiped out when the construction of the Seaway flooded their burrows in 1959.However, one surviving member lives beneath the old orchard at Iroquois Marina. He is apparently of great age, since he was known to the grandfather of Leroy Hamilton, who runs the marina. The Thumper gets its name from its habit of thumping loudly on the ice of the St. Lawrence on crisp, moonlit nights in February. The reverberation of these thumps can be heard for miles. Apparently, it is a mating call. Long ago, it was discovered that the rate of the thumping is directly related to the thickness of the ice. Thus, it is possible, by timing the rate of thumps per minute (TPM's) to predict accurately how many days are left before the ice of the river breaks up. Leroy claims to have used Iroquois Ike's TPM's for years as a guide to when he could expect to start launching boats. Unfortunately, Ike let him down in 1992. The thumping suddenly stopped, with the ice still wall-to-wall on the river. The only logical assumption was that Ike had found a mate, and had no reason to go on thumping ice. Predictions went out the window. Everybody was wrong, and it was a late launch. At this point, no one knows if St. Lawrence Thumpers mate for life. But come every February, Leroy will be listening...The Gozzling That Mothered SwallowsThe year that Gary McLaughlin was Commodore of the TIYC, 1988, was also one of the busiest Summers of hockey for his son. As any parent whose kid gets seriously into hockey can tell you, you can expect to spend a lot of early mornings or weekends driving to games or tournaments, and waiting for them to take place. So it was that Gary's Gozzling, a 37-foot Gozzard cutter (sister ship to Maple Sugar) gathered a lot of cobwebs in the harbor that year. On the odd occasion when McLaughlin did appear, he took considerable ribbing about letting the boat sit idle. What really did it though, was the day that some of his friends discovered a swallow's nest under the bowsprit...complete with eggs."I thought there were swallows acting kind of funny when we left the dock," McLaughlin opined. Most sailors would probably have moved swiftly to correct the situation. But McLaughlin ? No way. The nest was allowed to stay there until the swallows hatched.

The Legend of Jolly Jack RogersNobody's quite sure how it came to be, but the ghost of a headless pirate is said to haunt Endymion Island. As legend has it, Jolly Jack Rogers, a pirate who was beheaded for his activities on the St. Lawrence River and Great Lakes hundreds of years ago, still roams in spirit among the islands. It is said that Camelot and Endymion are two of his favorite islands, and according to the legend, he favors a cave on Endymion. According to the myth, he is occasionally seen on dark, moonless nights, wandering the island with his head in one hand, and a lantern in the other. In the mid-80s he was once seen at the crest of a knoll, overlooking the dock at the East end of Endymion. As he raised his lantern, it could be seen that his body was indeed headless; and as he raised his left hand, it appeared he was giving his head a chance to look around. He disappeared as quickly as he came. However, there are children of TIYC members still around, a little older now, who will tell you they saw him that night.

Got Leaves In Your Spreaders ?There's an old axiom among sailors in the Thousand Islands that if you haven't got leaves in your spreaders, you've probably been tacking too soon.Dick Bond (Long Gone) carried it a little too far in 1988. Tacking up the American channel towards Cape Vincent, Dick got a little too close to Linda Island, and on the tack, the vessel was in irons. Although he got the engine started, it was too late. The boat was aground, with waves pounding it onto the rocky shore. It turned into a full rescue operation for the US and Canadian Coast Guards, and military helicopters. None of the crew was injured, and the boat was salvaged with only minimal damage, considering the circumstances. Nevertheless, the skipper had to put up with the ignominy of a front-page aerial picture of Long Gone on the beach, published in the Kingston Whig-Standard. That, and getting the Bull's Butt for 1988.

THE BULL'S BUTT - A Prestigious Award For Lousy SeamanshipIn the TIYC's early years, most of its members were as new to the St. Lawrence as was the club. Lack of local knowledge, coupled with all those things that can happen through inexperience or just plain bad luck dogged many a skipper. And some of the incidents were just plain hilarious. To preserve the memory of those incidents, the Bull's Butt Award was created in 1983, and goes annuallly to the skipper displaying the most lousy -- or most hilarious -- seamanship in the previous season. Herewith a year-by year account of Bull's Butt Awards, and near-misses for the award. (It Doesn't Look This Good)

1983 Paul Lawrence - The Lights at Night Are Big and BrightLate in the 1983 season, Paul Lawrence had purchased Vagabond IV from its previous owner, John Roberts. Although he had a couple of weekends aboard, Lawrence was still unfamiliar enough with the boat that he asked Roberts to help him bring it down to Iroquois Marina for Winter storage. For some unknown reason, they were travelling after dark. By the time they had reached the area approaching the Prescott Bridge, off Ogdensburg, Roberts was sound asleep below.Lawrence at the helm, saw what he thought were red and green lighted marks, and set his course between them. Suddenly, he was aground. The red and green lights, accompanied by a deep throbbing of massive engines, swept past him. He had mistaken the running lights of a freighter for navigation marks.

1984 Gerry Penney - Nobody Knows The Trouble I've SeenSome things can go wrong that just baffle the imagination. Nobody to this day can figure out how Gerry Penney managed it that day. Leaving Endymion Island Sunday evening of Father's Day weekend, a group of sailboats decided they would race back to the marina. Starting and finish lines were decided upon, a committee boat appointed, and all was set. The starting horn sounded. Everybody took off. Everybody that is, except Pennacle. Somehow, someway, in a way nobody can yet figure out, they had managed to wind their jib halyard around their prop. Any sailor will tell you this is an almost impossible thing to do. But Gerry did. That impossibility won him the award.

1985 John Roberts - It Ain't Over 'Til It's OverJohn Roberts, then skippering his first Citadel, a Niagara 35, was making for the dock at Milton Island to join some friends. Fenders were down, the crew was on station with bow and stern lines in hand, and everything seemed set for one of those perfect landings. Roberts brought the boat slowly along the dock; the crew stepped smartly ashore. The skipper, apprising the situation, did so too, removing his sailing gloves as he stepped ashore. Then the panic started, opening with a scream from Donna Roberts. Despite the best efforts of the crew to stop it, Citadel was proceeding along the dock, apparently determined to put herself ashore. The skipper had forgotten to take her out of gear.

1986 Captain NobodyAs incredible as it might seem, no one was judged to have screwed up sufficiently in the entire 1986 season to merit a Bull's Butt. It was not awarded for that year.

1987 Ken Truesdell - Don't Mess Around With The CommodoreEverybody had a good time at the party. Sue and Andy Goodman, who had just taken over Raffles from the previous owner, had hosted an afternoon cocktail party at anchor. Bolstered by good cheer, the guests began to depart in their dinghies. Among the first to leave was then Commodore Gerry Penney, accompanied by wife Joan, and Jennifer Lawrence, in Gerry's sputter-powered almost-dinghy. Among those coming along behind was Ken Truesdell, in his "killer" dinghy powered by a 25 hp motor. As he came alongside Penney, he opened it up. The resultant wash swamped the Commodore's barge and left the three passengers in the water. The insurance claim included a motor and a $300 pair of prescription sunglasses. And, to add insult to injury, Ken was unanimously voted Club Safety Officer, a post he still holds.

1988 Dick Bond - No, Dick, You Have To Go Around Dick Bond's spectacular grounding of Long Gone on Linda Island is documented elsewhere in this history. However, there is no truth to the rumor that if you dive below the boat, you'll see wheels on the keel. Obviously, in 1988, nobody else could match Bond's feat in the competition for this prestigious award.

1989 David Kerr - Taking On the Big Boys When the police car pulled into Iroquois Marina, David Kerr joked to John Deachman that "They've finally come for you John". His jocularity didn't last long. They'd come for him. It seems that, approaching Iroquois marina for Winter storage, Kerr had encountered a freighter idling toward Iroquois Lock, awaiting the signal to enter. As he passed the freighter, he found himself abreast of the entrance to the marina, made a smart left turn, and proceeded in. Apparently when Kermac III disappeared under the bows of the freighter, the pilot went ape. He called the Coast Guard, Rockport Search and Rescue and the Seaway in what seems to have been a mixture of apoplexy and a tinge of concern that he might have run over a sailboat. At the least, he was not amused. Neither were the cops, but they let Kerr go. Kerr pooh-poohed the notion that he had been anywhere close to the freighter. "We were at least 100 feet in front of him," he said. The judges considered Kerr a very worthy choice.

1990 RICK JOHNSTON - He Couldn't Even Plead IgnoranceIgnorance has been a logical excuse in many Bull's Butt awards, but Rick Johnston could hardly make the same plea. He grew up on the St. Lawrence and was once a tour boat captain. So when he clobbered the rock at the entrance to the Thousand Island Club Resort, a rock everybody knows is there, there was no excuse. Apparently, after Paul Lawrence had poured him just one absolutely dry, absolutely perfect Absolut vodka martini, Rick had decided to take Doris to dinner at the TI club. After dinner, on the way out, he hit the rock. Rick apparently initiated his own Fourth of July celebration by filling the air with rockets, which resulted in the Alex Bay volunteer fire department rushing to the rescue. The firemen had been attending a stag when Rick's distress interrupted their festivities. Apparently, a good time was being had by all. Everybody got along just fine.

The Founders: Where Are They Now ?What's happened to the six "originals" who founded the TIYC ?* Mike Houghton now lives in Toronto and only occasionally gets to the islands.* Harold Hopkins had a career change, and moved to Binghamton NY, which he began to find too long a drive for weekends. He first moved Summer Wine II to the Finger Lakes, and then sold it. He is currently boatless.* John Roberts bought a ski chalet at Mont Tremblant, and then began to use it as a Summer cottage, too. He appears in the islands about once a year in a runabout. Roberts still maintains he'll be back on the river "when the kids grow up".* Mike Bresnahan got married, had kids, bought a restaurant in Alex Bay and sold his boat.* Geoff Wheatley, who moved to the Utica NY area and now lives in Clinton, moved his boat to the Finger Lakes. He was expecting to move back to the islands in 1993, and will probably dock in Alex Bay.* Bob Mellor's still on the river.